


Stay right 'ere

by TheGuyWithShitOpinions



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Historical References, Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGuyWithShitOpinions/pseuds/TheGuyWithShitOpinions
Summary: A one-shot crossover of the two fandoms.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Stay right 'ere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuseValentine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuseValentine/gifts).



> I used @anyuta_artist art as a bit of inspiration which I found through @MuseVlt. Please check them out.

Alastor and Husk walked through the smoggy outskirts of London in silence, with short breaks of loud gulps coming from Husk's side as he took swigs from the green glass bottle. While the fact that he was drinking pure gin may have created the conclusion that he would be dead drunk, his curiosity about Alastor's request seemed to keep him sober enough to follow his boss without a single misstep. As they approached Vox's "bread" factory, Husk stopped, looked at his bottle and then at the red brick behemoth standing before him. Finally, he gave a grim snort.

"You motherfucker, is all that 'bread' for my birthday?"

At those words, Alastor turned, and even through the mask of his eternal grin scratched into him by a Kraut grenade, Husk could discern genuine amusement, though with a small streak of annoyance.

"Now, my dear friend, I would prefer if you keep your alcoholic fantasies to yourself, after all, what would I do with an emptied bakery and a dead gourmand?"

Husk face scrunched up, no one likes reminders of their weakness.

Alastor turned back around. "Now come along, we have business to do. And remember-"

"Just stay outside and do what you're told. And make sure the can I'm holding under my jacket is not visible too much." The alcoholic mumbled.

"Most certainly. Let's proceed."

As the unlikely duo approached the "bakery", a giant dressed in an apron over a simplistic worker uniform stepped from behind the corner.

"Valentine! What a pleasure it is to see you, my deviant friend! How are the missuses? Hope you're treating them well, I would like to get an appointment real soon!" Alastor gave a short laugh, the deep scarring stretching at the seams.

"I'ss Valentino, not Valentine. The boss's waiting for ye." Unlike Alastor, Valentino didn't seem to play around with his words, "And gimme yer weapons."

"Most certainly, Valentine." The grinning crime boss took out his pistol and passed it into the pimp's grossly oversized hands.

"An' de 'at."

"Ah, yes, completely forgot." Alastor pulled off the cap and placed it down on top of the gun, the razors in the blinder giving a low glint.

"An' 'e can't come in." Valentino gestured lazily at Husk who was still sucking on the bottle, seemingly completely out of the loop.

Alastor turned to Husk and locked eyes with, "You hear that old Husk? You stay out here." The Scotsman peeled his lips of the bottle-neck and nodded.

"Well then, now that all is sorted, maybe we can proceed?" Alastor questioned as he stared up at the behemoth pimp's eyes, the grin still stretched more than usual.

Valentine stared back, blinking once and then opened the door into the distillery. The two men disappeared into the brick bowels, leaving the boozer to his fantasies of endless barrels as he went down the gin, gulp by gulp.

The walk was a long one, casks upon casks upon casks of rum stood as silent walls, obscuring natural light, giving the feeling that each drop was closing in on Alastor, ready to drown him in sweetness as it would enter his lungs and make him cease for good. The Peaky Blinder shook his head and chased the thoughts away, must be the stress getting to him. As they finally reached Vox's room, Alastor felt tense just that one little bit, causing his smile to expand in length.

Vox's room couldn't be much more than ordinary: a desk, a safe, the cabinet ("an' the bullet goes bone, mash, bone, cabinet over there" echoed the words in Alastor's head) and a pretty average wall (Alastor felt himself get slightly flustered when looking at it, though he wasn't sure why). However, its owner could be called anything but ordinary. Vox, just like Valentino, was titanic, maybe even taller than the baker-pimp himself. He also tended to wear a top hat during all occasions, even now the dusty piece of headwear was perched on the gang leader's head. But most importantly, the grin that rivalled Alastor's, though there was one point of contention, while Alastor's scars would bring him compliments from the ladies at the pubs and acknowledgement of other veterans, Vox's freakish grin caused him great pain, macrodontia, the gigantism of the teeth, spread his lips into a constant smile.

As Alastor entered, Vox seemed to be reading one of the newspapers. Small droplets of spit seemed to come from the bared teeth with each breath, but Vox's eyebrows were a straight line, completely unfazed. The phone began ringing. No one moved.

"Seems, 'at's for you." Vox acknowledged, seemingly completely engrossed in the paper so much so that he didn't even lift his eyes to check who came in.

Alastor carefully lifted the receiver. " Hello..? Nifty? Good. Yeah." The receiver clicked back onto the phone.

"So this is outta de way, let's see what ya got for me." Vox finally decided to acknowledge his visitor, placing down the paper and sitting up in his chair.

Alastor took a paper out of his inside pocket, "A permit, a golden ticket to Terra Nova for all the beautiful sweet thing lying here in this here bakery " Alastor sat down, "not a single copper on the East Coast will lift an eyebrow, and as promised, 20% of my exports."

"Ye, now dis is lovely, innit, a little rum for celebration?" Vox reached under the table, but then his brows seemed to arch. "Actually, may I ask about de legality o' dose papers of yers?"

"Vox, you offend me-"

"No, no, no, I'm not doubting yer sincerity, I just wanted to ask because ye see, my lawyer, a smart man even if American, he got me dese papers, ye." Vox reached into his drawers and took out a small stack of papers, "Great proposition, so," he placed down the signature form in front of Alastor, "you sing 'ere and your whole company goes to me."

The room went silent, Vox's eyes were seemingly burrowing into Alastor, and his teeth seemed to clench ever-so-slightly.

"So I sign this and my whole business goes to you?" Alastor questioned, his grin in its place.

"Ye."

Alastor gave out a burst of roaring laughter. "Voxlie, my dear friend, never thought of you as a prankster."

Valentino's patience snapped, "YE'RE GONNA SIGN DE FOCKEN PAPERS!"

Alastor's eyebrows flew up on the wing of intrigue, "Or?"

Valentino's fist propelled itself towards the Blinder's face, only to be caught by Vox.

"Come on, mate, keep it together." Vox tutted.

Alastor, seemingly having not noticed the giant's fist flying at him, continued, "While you may be a prankster, Voxlie, I am personally a huge fan of fireworks. I can start one right now."

Now it was Vox's turn to get surprised, "Any way ye could elaborate?"

"You remember Alexander the Second? That poor, poor bloke who ruled the Russian Empire and got blown to royal bits? Well, right now one of the explosive technicians who were a part of the quite foul plot is standing outside, armed with nought but a grenade, and considering rum's combustible properties one must ask themselves what may or may not happen in such a situation?" Alastor's speech was slow and methodical, he wasn't even close to nervous. On the other hand, Valentino's ego seemed to have deflated.

"Boss, boss, I don't think he's lyin', I saw some old drunk bastard outside dat came with 'im, he had something inside his jacket."

Vox ignored him, his eyes were now quickly dashing around Alastor's face, trying to find a falsity.

"Never saw ye as suicidal Allie." Vox turned to Valentino, "How much do you wanna bet that the cunt is lying?"

"Oh Voxlie, you see I really do love my business, it's my heart and soul, now that I think about it, I'd rather die with it than live without it."

Vox turned back around to Alastor, "Yeah, well. Valentino?"

"Aye?" Valentino was shifting from leg to leg and begun fidgeting.

"Now, sweet'eart, ya go outside and tear the blokes 'ead off for all de dear viewers."

"He sees anyone but me, he pulls the pin." Alastor intervened.

Valentino broke down, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST VOX! I FUCKEN SAW 'IM YOU GO-"

WHAM! In one fluid motion, Vox stood up and planted his fist into Valentino's solar plexus.

"This is a discussion, not a fucking maternity ward, so if you're gonna act like one of ye whores in red rage then go cry in a fucking corner," Vox growled, grabbed Valentino by the lapels, looked him straight in the eyes and pronounced through gritted teeth, "Fuck off, now." he pointed into the corner of the room and let Valentino go. The pimp sagged to his knees while Vox sunk back into his chair.

Al seemed to have ignored that little slip-up in Vox's mask and continued, "Should I also mention that he's gonna go off if I don't come out in about..." He fished out his pocket watch, "About ten minutes. So let's start, I give you 25."

Vox ignored the proposition, "Talk to me about that assassin o' yers." Vox also checked his pocket watch.

"Two satchel charges. Saint-Petersburg. The first one as primary, the second one as a back-up. The first toppled the Emperor's carriage but failed, the second blew the monarch's legs off. He was dying for an hour."

"Shitty assassin you got, so fuck off, Allie. Gimme 70."

"Nope, my teethy associate. What about... 30?"

"Allie, I'd rather fly to Hell along with you than eat so much shit. 50 or we wait until your associate blows us sky high and considering the tale you told me, he'll probably fuck it up anyway."

"Oh please Voxlie, the Emperor is dead, and unlike him, you're not God's representative on Earth, 35."

"40, for all you know I'll be a martyr for the distillers of the world."

"Sincerely doubt that my friend, 40 it is."

Both stood up and shook hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in about an hour, so don't judge too harshly.


End file.
